Harry Potter & the Really Awesome Fanfiction Story
by Holl-e-wood
Summary: oneshot humor. Join Harry and Co. in a wild romp of a story that was written in the best tradition of the random humor that introduced me to HP fanfic in the first place. Guaranteed to earn at least a smirk, even if it is at the author's expense.


Harry Potter and the Really Awesome Fan Fiction Story

_Otherwise entitled: _

_Harry Potter and the Random(ly) Righteous Rigamarole, or Harry Potter and All That Jazz, or possibly … er, well, maybe I'm getting my titles mixed up. A thousand pardons._

In the Beginning, when the Page was all white and the Pen was full to brimming with Magically color changing Ink, there was a Prologue…

…. And this is it.

This prologue, utterly famous and respected everywhere as a work of the true genius that comes only from combining Hermione's brains with Luna's dottiness, tells the story of the story, or at least introduces it, and allows the author to make a few unabashed comments about herself and her story.

First, said all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-dotty author—what, it's my prologue, I can be if I want to—must admit with a blush and apologetic bow that she does not own any of the Harry Potter characters, references or places that follow (unless of course an OC surprises me and jumps out of a cake) and she would not dream of taking JKR's work as her own. (This being said from a deep mistrust of all tings lawyer-y, an abiding fear of plagiarism-istic accusations, and fake—or is that false?—modesty.) Unfortunately, however, the following characters', references, places, etcs, actions and words are either hers or used for the purposes of humorous out-of-context quotes.

This beginning is beginning—that is, starting—to wear on a bit so the author, in her ever-growing knowledge and blossoming hand cramp (yes I wrote this out on paper first) has decided to move along to the "Real Point," or rather, Real Pointlessness, of the prologue. Thus: the greatest of all beginnings begins, the most wonderful words ever put in order to form a sentence, the most glowingly amazingly genius sentence comes to be this Great Fan Fiction's opening lines:

(drum roll, please)

… It was a dark and stormy night.

(drum roll abruptly ceases, somehow managing to end on a questioning note.)

Oh, fine. Have it your way. It's only my story, after all….

Continuing to the Real Body of Chapter One, which is in fact the whole Story as it is a One-Shot:

Harry Potter was in the middle of a long and frightfully important duel with Lord Voldysnot—yes, you read me write, Lord Voldysnot—and although he was winning, a little blue circle floating in the corner of his peripheral vision was turning red, and he was growing tired. The dark and scary and generally typically Rowling-esque crisis scenery flickered alarmingly, and suddenly everything went black, just as—

"You! Boy!"

It was the snarl of a round, remarkably large-mouthed, bushy-mustached man that caused Harry to start guiltily and snatch the Virtual Reality Visor Mega Experience Helmet off his head. He tapped it with his wand to erase the Destroy Voldysnot game program and shoved it under his bed, and so was sitting innocently on the bedspread when Uncle Vernon barged into the Smallest Bedroom of Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, Great Britain, the World, the Solar System, the Galaxy, the Universe At Large.

Wow, thought Harry. This bedroom really is small. Just look at the size of just the address. The real place—the universe—must be gigantic…

"Dudders can't find his Virtual Reality Visor Mega Experience Helmet game thingy!" Uncle Vernon barked. "What have you done with it?"

"I turned it into a toad," Harry offered back cheerfully. He reached into a pocket, pulled out the amphibian in question, and held it under his uncle's nose. "Smell?"

The resulting explosion sounded something like this:

AGRRRHEHHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHZHZHEHEHASOLKDNJGAKHG9

(the 9 being the result of a typo carefully placed to… make you laugh, reveal that even the wonderful author is human and capable of mistakes or to reveal a secret code that is really the plot of the story? Decisions, decisions.)

In reality, or at least in what passes itself off as reality in Harry Potter and the Really Awesome Fan Fiction Story (which you happen to be reading right now), it was Uncle Vernon's spectacular inarticulate yell of rage.

Harry wondered why he yelled nine at the end. Maybe he had been trying to count to ten and failed miserably. Aha, he thought vaguely. Another reason to laugh at this… bushy… mustached… thing.

But continuing:

"You mean—you—you dare—you—" Uncle Vernon spluttered. He looked as though he was about to hyperventilate or give birth to a very large and chocolate colored bovine, but Harry was far too used to these childish temper tantrums to care.

"Yes," Harry continued in a cheerfully oblivious voice, "I waved my—"

(Uncle Vernon whimpered)

"—big knobbly stick—"

(Uncle Vernon's knees began to knock, which Harry found amusing but rather distracting, but with all the other distractions from the narrative he figured it didn't really matter all that much),

"—mumbled a few nonsense pig latin syllables—"

(Uncle Vernon's eyes contracted in fear)

"and Voila!" Harry pulled the Virtual Reality Visor Mega Experience Helmet out from under his bed and placed the frog down there in its place, very slowly and obviously.

"And just like you just saw, I transformed it."

There was a sudden stillness as the world struggled not to break loose into a thousand hysterically laughing pieces at Harry's audacity. Uncle Vernon, a remarkable shade of purplish green in the face, grabbed the Virtual Reality Visor Mega Experience Helmet and rushed out of the room in great consternation.

Or is that constipation? I don't know, these similar sounding words…

At which time the world finally did as it had been threatening to do for the last three minutes and exploded into a thousand hysterically laughing pieces at Harry's audacity… giving the author plenty of time to rest her cramped writing hand (yes I have a quill and parchment, what of it?), and—

"And tell me what all the pink smoke is about!" yelled the voice of one Harry James Potter.

Er….?

"What?" comes the voice of Harry Potter again. "Haven't you ever heard of story characters taking on a life of their own and ruling the story and completely changing it from the author's intent?"

With an apologetic glance at her readers (there are readers out there, aren't there? They're not a fictional animal made up by… other authors?) the author turns to face her wayward, borrowed character.

"Yes, I've heard of such things," she answers cautiously. "But you're not mine to make… er… to allow to come to life and… whatnot."

Harry gives said author a look. You know the look. _That_ look.

"Never stopped you before, has it?" he answers. "And anyway, it's not my fault, my I Am just sort of went I Think, and, well, there you have it."

There is a second of silence. The author graciously chooses to ignore this bit of… information… and proceeds directly to the next confusing matter which has probably (not) been troubling the reader(s) (if they exist) for these many long paragraphs.

"Er… what pink smoke?"

Harry sighs and shakes his ink-and-word head. "Falling down on the job again, eh? Not describing everything fully? The pink smoke that came when the world exploded into a thousand hysterically laughing pieces, that pink smoke! I just want to know—why pink? And why didn't you write it into the description the first time? And," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I hate pink."

The author appears to think about this. "Oh… well… why does it have to be pink? I suppose because pink is funny at one in the morning…"

Harry gives her that look again, and the author's patience just does a snape, that is, it just snaps. "Just give me Hermione's time turner, then, and off we'll go to fix it," she orders.

(time turner is turned back several paragraphs. Movie special effects omitted.)

At which time the world finally did as it had been threatening to do for the last three minutes and exploded into a thousand hysterically laughing pieces at Harry's audacity…

…. Filling the void of space with an inexplicable pink smoke that seemed to annoy almost everyone, except the author, who was writing the scene at one in the morning when pink was very funny for some odd reason.

(time turner catches on a snag in its chain and hurtled all concerned inconveniently several chapters into the future).

"Ah, look!" Harry exclaimed delightedly, "a Plot Device!" He promptly picked it up and put it into his pocket—

(--knocking against the time turner, which sent all concerned unconcernedly back to where they should have been by now to begin with.)

There should be several pages worth of shocked silence at this point, but we'll skip that because it's rather hard to read—not to mention write—blank spaces.

"That's it?" Harry asks the by-now completely bewildered author, who has started to ignore her (potentially (non)existent) readers. "No time traveling paradoxes, no inexplicable humor, no hidden message or moral or making fun of Snape?" Harry is now openly horrified. "What kind of fan fiction is this??"

But the author has had enough. "Good. Bye," she intones firmly and squeezes Harry into the Sorting Hat to shut him up. She smiles in a satisfied sort of way. "They can keep each other company."

And now the author returns to whatever it was she was saying—only to discover the untimely interruption of the willful characters had completely lost her her train of thought, and thus the point (or pointlessness) of the prologue of the story was missed completely, lost forever in the mists of… well, wherever things are lost at, and she hoped very hard the handle of Gryffindor's sword was sitting on top of Harry's head making stars twirl about his ears.

Thus the beginning comes to an end, and thus the ending is also ending as well, no farther along, but no father back, which is good, because no one has ever gone back before the beginning and it would surely be a very scary place. Thus the author wishes to end by apologizing for this literary-illy bad pun(s) and mishap(s), having no plot to speak of in the traditional sense or having any idea where her original fragile train of thought have been leading, and hopes that all readers shall punish Harry for making his Fan Fiction author forget the point of his own story by reading Snape scenes in cannon and demanding that another story or at least an extra chapter be sent in, containing unknown quantities of run-on sentences, Filch, olives, a rubber glove and Ron Weasley (in no particular order or association.) Or, in fact, whatever said Reader might find amusing.

This concludes the random bit of fluffy-mindedness.

In the land of Authors, there was once a Story born; this Story was loved by its Author very much, and the Author only tearfully let her firstborn out into the wider world, to the land of Readers, and only upon the promise that her beautiful Story would be well taken care of; this includes the Feeding of the Story. Stories feed upon Reviews, dear Readers--do not make the Author come after you with her army of penguins, maddened by grief from the starvation of her Story...


End file.
